The Last Girl (14 page)

‘There was one gentleman.’ Reynolds spoke slowly, reluctant to give us the details. ‘It was a rape. A minor. He was a teacher and the alleged victim was one of his students. He was acquitted on appeal, but unfortunately he blamed Mr Kennford for his original conviction.’

‘What was his name?’ Godley asked.

‘Christopher Blacker.’

The boss caught my eye.
You can look into that one
. ‘Did it amount to anything?’

‘It never became a police matter.’

That didn’t mean much. It wouldn’t have been good for Kennford’s reputation – or that of his chambers – if word got out that a dissatisfied client was gunning for him. I could imagine them deciding to handle it themselves, whatever had happened.

‘Anyone else we should know about?’

‘The father of a young lady who was murdered some years ago. Her boyfriend was tried and acquitted, and the father felt he shouldn’t have got off. Understandably, you know. He thought that Mr Kennford owed him an apology. Vandalised his car. Now that did end up in court, but he pleaded guilty and got a suspended sentence for criminal damage, which was fair enough given the circumstances. Mr Kennford was very understanding of his position and made a statement asking for leniency. So that ended up being all right.’

Except for the dead girl and her grieving father. ‘Do you have his name?’

‘Gerard Harman. The daughter’s name was Clara. Mr Kennford’s client was Mr Harry Stokes.’

‘Did they ever catch anyone?’ Derwent asked casually.

‘For her murder? Not as far as I know.’

In other words, they’d had the right man in the first place, in spite of the fact he’d been acquitted.

‘That was a good day’s work, then, wasn’t it?’ You couldn’t miss the sarcasm in Derwent’s tone and Reynolds didn’t. Nor did he get upset.

‘That’s the system.’

‘Oh, yeah, you don’t make the rules.’

‘That’s right. And Mr Stokes was entitled to be defended to the best of Mr Kennford’s abilities.’

‘That’s what I don’t understand. Why would Kennford spend his time and energy defending a piece of shit like that?’

‘Because he’s good at it, and it needs doing.’

‘Sewer maintenance needs doing too, but I don’t see him queuing up to volunteer.’

‘I don’t think he’d be much use in a sewer,’ Reynolds said mildly. ‘But he knows his way around the Central Criminal Court.’

‘It’s worth looking into Mr Harman’s whereabouts.’ Godley was tapping his pen on his notebook. ‘Kennford’s
daughter
was killed. If he blamed Kennford for his daughter’s killer being let off, maybe he wanted him to see what it was like to lose a child.’

‘What about his wife?’ Derwent asked.

‘Accidental. She walked in on the murder.’

‘It’s possible.’ Derwent didn’t sound convinced. ‘We should check him out, though.’

Reynolds sat forward in his chair, preparing to stand up. ‘That’s all I can think of at the moment. Mr Kennford might be able to come up with some more.’

As if on cue the door swung open to reveal Philip Kennford, tieless and with rolled-up shirtsleeves. His hair was ruffled as if he had been running his hands through it, but he didn’t look distraught – more as if he had been interrupted at work and was keen to get back to it.

‘Apologies for keeping you waiting. Alan, what are you doing in here?’

‘Offering the police any assistance I could, that’s all, sir.’ Reynolds grinned at his star QC. Calling him ‘sir’ was convention, not respect, but I thought he genuinely liked Kennford.

‘Going through my worst failures, you mean. I thought I could hear the rattle of skeletons tumbling out of cupboards.’

‘Hardly.’

‘Who did you mention? Blacker?’

‘And Harman.’

‘That poor old sod.’ Kennford winced. ‘One of those times you wish you could leave the law out of it.’

‘As with Mr Blacker?’ Godley inquired.

‘One dissatisfied client is not worth involving the energies of the Met. As I’m sure you’d be the first to agree, Inspector.’ Kennford raised his eyebrows at Derwent. I had the uncomfortable feeling that he was issuing a challenge, even though so far Derwent hadn’t said a word, hostile or otherwise. He had definitely made an
impression
the previous night. Perhaps mindful of Godley’s warning, Derwent didn’t respond directly.

‘How are you today, Mr Kennford?’

‘I feel okay. Bit of a headache. Nothing serious.’

‘I’m glad to hear it.’ Derwent paused for a moment. ‘I actually meant to ask how you are coping with your very recent bereavement.’ He leaned on
very recent
, not needing to add ‘you heartless git’ but clearly implying it.

‘I’m trying not to think about it.’

‘Really? I’d have thought it would be the main thing on your mind. In your shoes I’d be trying to work out who had it in for me, or my family. I’d be wondering if I’d missed a chance to save them. I don’t think I’d be able to concentrate on work.’

‘Do I really need to point out that we’re quite different in temperament? As I said last night, I am prepared to leave you to find out who did this. It’s not my job to investigate crimes. It
is
my job to prepare trials and be an advocate for my clients, so that’s what I’m doing. It takes my mind off the frankly horrible experiences I’ve endured in the last day or so, and it makes me feel less helpless in the face of an apparently random act of violence, because if I allowed myself to think about it properly, I have to tell you, I don’t think I could be responsible for my actions.’

Kennford’s voice had been rising as he delivered his speech, his accent thickening, and he finished by thumping his fist on the back of the chair nearest him, as if he had no other vent for his emotions. Reynolds looked down at his hands, embarrassed by the barrister’s loss of control. A quick look around the room confirmed that Godley, Derwent and I were maintaining the same studiedly neutral expression. What they were thinking, I didn’t know, but I was admiring Kennford’s ability to pull a big scene out of the bag when required. Heartless workaholic? No, just too devastated to confront the reality of his loss. How horrible of us to suggest anything else. A
jury
would have loved it, but Philip Kennford was playing to a tough crowd.

Reynolds brushed some imaginary fluff off his knee. ‘Would you like me to stay, Mr Kennford?’

‘To make sure I don’t say anything stupid?’ Kennford shook his head. ‘No, Alan. You’ve got better things to do.’

The chief clerk stood and nodded to Godley. ‘If I can do anything to help, just ask.’

‘Appreciated.’ He waited until Reynolds had left the room. ‘Do sit down, Mr Kennford.’

Rather to my surprise, Kennford took over the armchair the chief clerk had vacated. Maybe he was going to cooperate after all.

‘If you haven’t been thinking about the crimes, I take it you don’t have any more suggestions for our list of suspects.’

‘No, I don’t. I’ve told you what I can, and Alan has given you some more names, though I think you’ll be wasting your time if you chase after someone like poor old Harman.’

‘He did make threats against you, though.’

‘The usual kind.’ Seeing that that wasn’t enough, Kennford drawled, ‘He promised me exposure, disgrace, ruin, a visitation from the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse and the seven plagues of Egypt. You name it.’

‘Did he carry out any of his threats at the time?’

‘No. Or if he did, I wasn’t aware of them.’

‘Is that everyone you can think of?’

Kennford nodded.

‘We’ve been concentrating on people who don’t like you, but is there anyone that you consider to be an enemy?

‘I don’t have a quarrel with anyone. There are those who have a problem with me, but I have better things to think about than wrongs that were done to me.’

I couldn’t help butting in. ‘You said your ex-wife took your entire income.’

‘So she does. That was the decision of the courts when we divorced. I couldn’t really argue too much since she’d been with me through law school and my first few years at the Bar, and I’d been playing away with a very wealthy woman. Vita,’ he added for clarity. ‘She wasn’t in good health and the judge thought she needed the money more than I did.’

‘Are you on good terms with your first wife?’

‘Of course not,’ Kennford snapped. ‘There’s a reason we divorced.’

‘I thought you split up because you were being unfaithful to her,’ I said blandly.

‘We split up because she hadn’t the sense to turn a blind eye.’

Unlike Vita
. We all thought it; no one actually said it.

‘When was the last time you spoke to her?’

He rubbed his eyes. ‘Last year. I pay her once a quarter rather than monthly because my earnings aren’t consistent month to month – I get paid for cases I did years ago, sometimes. I was late with her money and she rang up to know where it was. It was a short conversation.’

‘Pleasant?’ I asked, deadpan.

Kennford laughed. ‘I like your sense of humour.’

Appreciating women came naturally to him – he could no more help flirting with me than he could stop himself from breathing. For a moment I felt myself being drawn in by his charm in spite of myself, but then the words ‘bimbo sidekick’ popped into my mind.

‘And what’s your ex-wife’s name?’

‘Miranda Wentworth. She went back to her maiden name when we got divorced.’ A grin. ‘Actually, my name was the one thing she didn’t keep.’

Attuned to other people’s reactions to him, he must have noticed the lack of a response because he switched his focus to Godley.

‘Look, I appreciate the in-depth focus on me and I don’t
mind
answering your questions, but I can’t see this getting us anywhere. Miranda’s not a killer. She’s extremely bitter about how our marriage ended but she wouldn’t take it out on the girls, and I don’t know why she would have waited twenty years to attack Vita. As far as I know, she’s not in the best of health, so she wouldn’t have been able to attack them, and she certainly wouldn’t have had the height to hit me over the head or the strength to push me into the mirror.’

‘That does seem impossible,’ Derwent agreed.

Kennford was on to him straightaway. ‘Back to thinking I did it myself?’

‘It’s always a possibility until we’re sure you didn’t.’

‘And with that in mind, I’m going to need to take your mobile phone,’ Godley said.

‘My God, so you really are including me on the list of suspects.’ Kennford gave a strained laugh. ‘You just base your investigation on probabilities, don’t you? There’s a certain inevitability to it. If it’s a domestic murder, of course the husband must have done it, regardless of who he is or how he acts. But I suppose you can’t understand what I’m doing here today, instead of sitting in a dark room drinking cheap whisky and letting my beard grow, or whatever it is you think I should be doing.’

‘We don’t expect everyone to react the same way to a death in the family,’ Godley said calmly. ‘You aren’t a suspect because we think you aren’t upset enough.’

‘Why, then?’ Kennford’s jaw was tight with anger.

‘You are a suspect because you don’t seem interested in helping us to find the people who murdered your wife and daughter. Over the course of two interviews, you have told us as little as possible about your life. Your clerk gave us more information in a brief conversation than you have so far.’ Godley began to lay out the facts, showing him the cards we were holding. I watched Kennford, curious to see if it was a winning hand. ‘You are a suspect because you
have
a weak alibi and a possible motive for wanting your wife dead because your marriage was on shaky ground. You were in the house. You had the opportunity to kill her, and the means to dispose of the murder weapon before staging your own attack. Laura wasn’t supposed to be there so we can discount the fact that you don’t have a motive for her death.’

‘I would tear that to shreds if we were in court. All you have are suppositions and implications. Where’s the evidence?’

‘That will come – if our suppositions and implications are right.’ Godley shrugged. ‘If they’re not, you don’t have anything to worry about because there won’t be any evidence for us to find. Either way, I need your phone.’

Kennford took out a battered iPhone and weighed it in his hand. ‘This is my lifeline, you know. I’ve got to be able to keep in touch with the clerks and my solicitors. I haven’t had to queue up to use a public phone at court since I was a pupil. And I need to check my email.’

‘No BlackBerry?’

‘I do it all on this. I have enough to manage without having a million and one gadgets to carry around.’

‘What about a personal mobile phone?’ Derwent asked.

‘For the legions of women who send me messages? So I can keep that line of communication secret?’

‘You said it.’

Kennford shook his head. ‘I couldn’t be bothered.’

‘Didn’t you care if your wife found out about your girlfriends?’ I couldn’t help asking.

Instead of being offended, he favoured me with a sheepish grin. ‘Rumours of my philandering exaggerate the truth. I’m not going to try to mislead you. There
have
been other women, but not anything like as many as people suggest. It’s something that happens, and it’s not a big deal.’